


the paths we take

by restlessnight



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Time, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Spoilers, scar tracing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-26 16:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20745134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessnight/pseuds/restlessnight
Summary: They didn't get a chance at a proper honeymoon—a luxury that post-war reconstruction doesn't allow for. So it's both predictable and disarming when one night, Byleth's goodnight kiss is less chaste than usual, when he peppers feather-light kisses along Dimitri's jawline.





	the paths we take

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd.

It's been two weeks since their wedding, a wonderful, historical event that only lasted for a moment before both the new King of Faerghus and the Archbishop set to work. They didn't get a chance at a proper honeymoon—a luxury that post-war reconstruction doesn't allow for. So it's both predictable and disarming when one night, Byleth's goodnight kiss is less chaste than usual, when he peppers feather-light kisses along Dimitri's jawline. 

"What's this for," Dimitri chuckles. Byleth's breath is ticklish against his throat when the other's kisses migrate lower. The pair had yet to consummate their marriage, always interrupted by matters of the kingdom or the church before their kisses could deepen, before their touches could linger. Dimitri was always secretly thankful—he was woefully ignorant when it came to matters of the flesh. Young rulers-to-be rarely had the chance to indulge in such affairs, and his attempts at seeking out advice from Sylvain or Claude were short-lived, always ending in Dimitri speed-walking out of the room as one (or both) of them made obscene gestures and remarks.

To say Dimitri is inexperienced would be an understatement.

"Am I not allowed to touch my husband?" Byleth's says, his voice steady and calm despite his actions, his bright green eyes looking up into Dimitri's. 

Husband. A word still so foreign to him, just as new and unfamiliar as the title of 'King.' The concept of loving someone and being loved in return had always been just that—a concept his undeserving hands were never meant to reach. And yet there he lay, his own husband kissing the palm of his hand, the heavy silver ring on his finger. 

"You may touch all you like," Dimitri whispers, cradling Byleth's face between both hands, "you don't even have to ask. Everything you desire is yours."

Byleth doesn't respond, and that only makes Dimitri all the more nervous. His husband—his confidante, his love—had always been unreadable, with his seemingly empty eyes and blank expression. In his youth, when all he knew about his husband was his ambiguous past and, Dimitri took care to avoid having to meet the other's gaze. When the young prince had to fight, he did so with reluctance, the stench of the bloody battlefield enough to make him sick. His professor was a mercenary in his youth, a relentless demon who killed without remorse and for a price. How could Dimitri ever respect such a man, more unrepentant monster than human.

Oh, how times change.

Byleth's deft hands work at the buttons of Dimitri's sleep-shirt, goosebumps on his skin when his chest is exposed to the cold night air. These days his dear husband could be found in the monastery, the most gentle of smiles on his face as he welcomed in orphans that had lost their families to war. Byleth always made sure there was enough room for every lost soul, the hallowed grounds of Garreg Mach constantly abuzz with the laughter and songs of children.

It's a little disorienting seeing that same man, always so patient and kind, now fully on top of him, both hands on either side of his head. Dimitri would be lying if he said the contrast wasn't a little arousing.

"Since when have you been so eager, love?" Dimitri asks. He curses internally when his voice cracks toward the end.

His husband doesn't speak, only rakes his eyes down Dimitri's bare torso while the King flushes under the scrutiny. It takes effort to not whimper when Byleth removes his own sleep-shirt. 

The two have seen each other naked exactly once: when they had returned to Faerghus at the end of the war. Both men had been so fatigued and injured that they could barely stand on their own. It was Dimitri's idea to bathe together, to metaphorically lick each others' wounds before they would need to discuss with the others and deal with the inevitable frenzy of a post-war Fodlan. Or was it Byleth's? It was—is—a struggle to piece together memories now, his mind a murky bog from the events of months past, his bones heavy with ache and trauma that would ensure he would never sleep well for months, years to come. 

Dimitri had made quick work of removing his armor and clothing, an action that would be second nature to him under normal circumstances. Only, those weren't normal circumstances, and Byleth's eyes had been just as scrutinizing as they are now, his expression maddeningly neutral as he took in every scar, wound, and burn on Dimitri's naked body. Dimitri had never thought one way or the other about the jagged, twisted lines that decorated his body, the mottled flesh on the right side of his body—eternal reminders of his atrocities, deserved and irreparable.

But under Byleth's gaze, he always felt so much smaller. 

"Is- is something wrong?" he asked.

Bright green eyes lingered on a scar on his shoulder—a faint, white line from his childhood. Byleth shook his head, divested himself of his own clothing, and left Dimitri speechless.

During their years at the academy, Dimitri had always wondered whether Jeralt and Byleth were blood-related. They shared the same calm demeanor, but that was where the similarities ended. The father-son pair looked as if they had come from two different households—Jeralt was riddled with scars, his time spent as a mercenary permanently marred onto his skin, while his professor lacked the constant physical reminders that Jeralt, and now Dimitri, carried with them.

"Appearances can be deceiving..." Dimitri whispered to himself. There, on Byleth’s own body, laid a map of raised skin, deep red pathways that twisted and contorted, that decorated his torso. One ran from the center of his chest and meandered down to his left side. It was strangely beautiful, begging to be touched, explored. And without thinking, Dimitri did. 

Byleth was unflinching then, as Dimitri traced the length of the scar with the rough pad of his index finger. When Dimitri wasn’t touching at the scarred flesh, he was briefly looking up at Byleth’s face, searching. Searching for what, he didn’t know; vulnerability, shame, something. He looked away in embarrassment when no such reaction came. Distantly, Dimitri wondered if Byleth was even affected by him as much as he was by Byleth.

Now, Dimitri repeats the action in the comfort of their bedroom, his breath caught in his throat. Byleth lets out a faint shiver. It excites him, being able to elicit a reaction from Byleth, so he does it again.

Byleth’s hand is quick to stop Dimitri from doing so a third time. “Why do you enjoy that? Touching the scars on my body.” 

“Why do you enjoy me doing it?” There’s a playful lilt in Dimitri’s tone, one that dies when Byleth continues to stare at him. “I’m not sure, actually,” he says, dragging his hand down Byleth’s torso, down his abdomen, “I think they’re quite beautiful. They tell a story that I never tire of reading.”

“So you enjoy touching and looking at my scars, but go to great lengths to hide your own?”

That causes Dimitri to pause, his hand just above the waistband of Byleth’s pants. The other continues to stare down at him, his eyes calculating. It’s true that Dimitri had always taken care to cover himself up, even during the warmer seasons. Despite his heroic status and acclaim, many still struggle to even look at him. Children run when he approaches, and the men and women of Faerghus smile warmly at him, then whisper hurriedly behind their hands once he’s out of earshot. Imagining what they would say, what they would do, if he were to remove his armor for even one day… 

“I could say the same to you, Professor,” Dimitri says, smiling as Byleth flinches at the old title. “You practically lived in that dark, metal shell of yours for all the years I’ve known you.”

Byleth frowns, and Dimitri’s smile only widens at the adorable crease of his eyebrows. “I suppose that’s why we make a good pair,” Byleth says, leaning down until his face is close to Dimitri’s, his breath on Dimitri’s lips, “two people forever stuck in their shells.”

It’s Dimitri who puts his hand on the back Byleth’s head, pulls him down for a kiss. It’s warm, soft. He focuses on the feel of Byleth’s mouth against his, the subtle grinding of their hips as their kiss deepens. His grip on Byleth’s hair tightens as he imagines how sweet Byleth’s lips must be.

They’re breathing hard when they finally pull away, an uncomfortable tightness in Dimitri’s pants as Byleth presses his forehead against Dimitri. “It’s funny,” Dimitri says after a beat, “I could be wearing five layers of the most impenetrable armor, I could be buried deep in the Earth’s crust, even.” The look of confusion on Byleth’s face only urges Dimitri to continue. “But under your gaze, I’m as bare and vulnerable as the day I was forced into this world.”

Byleth kisses him again, harder, their lips sure to bruise come morning. It’s intoxicating, dizzying, and Dimitri moans into Byleth’s mouth when the other grinds their hips together again. 

His husband only relents to suck marks into the skin of Dimitri’s neck, leaving Dimitri panting and groaning as the sensations start to build up, his abs clenching, his toes curling. 

He grabs Byleth’s hips, and the noise he elicits from him only emboldens him as he grinds against his husband, his love. 

Their bodies move in tandem, just as they always have, to bring each other to their respective ends. Dimitri’s heart beats like a drum in his chest, a backdrop to the precious sounds and whimpers that Byleth only makes in his arms. 

Dimitri is the first to climax, his deep moan echoing off the walls of their bedchambers as his hips stutter against Byleth. His nails scratch fresh, red marks onto Byleth’s back, creating a new pathway of his own.

Byleth stiffens against Dimitri, shudders. Dimitri has to strain to hear his name being whispered against his skin. 

They stay like that for a while, their bodies heaving against each other as they struggle to catch their breaths. Dimitri wraps his arms around his husband, breathing in his scent as he kisses the top of his head.

Briefly, he wonders if it’d be possible to stay this way forever. To abandon all responsibilities and spend his years entertwined with his love until the end of time.

“Dimitri,” Byleth says softly against his chest, interrupting his thoughts, “earlier, you said that you feel naked, vulnerable, when I look at you, yes?”

“Yes,” Dimitri replies honestly.

“Interesting,” Byleth whispers, and Dimitri chuckles.

“How so?”

Byleth looks up at him, his bright eyes as cutting as ever. “When I look at you, I feel even stronger. Like I could do anything.”

“I give you… strength?” Dimitri asks. 

Byleth nods. “I could be wearing nothing at all, and just looking at you would make me feel as if I had on five layers of the most impenetrable armor. Like I could take on anything and anyone, as long as you were by my side.”

“And I have,” Byleth says when Dimitri only stares at him, mouth agape, “and I always will. So please,” he says, leaning up to give Dimitri a chaste kiss before continuing, “never leave my side again.”

Tears fall from Dimitri’s face as he kisses his husband again, and again, and again. 

**Author's Note:**

> i was robbed of a dimitri/mbyleth s rank!!!! robbed!!!! also, kudos/comments are appreciated :)


End file.
